Rack 'Em Up, Let's Play Again
by Laura Schiller
Summary: A Niles/CC story for every episode, because we can't get enough of our favorite couple.
1. Pilot

Let's Play Again

By Laura Schiller

Based on: The Nanny

Copyright: Fran Drescher

_Episode 1 – Pilot_

"Niles?"

CC peered around the kitchen door.

"Yes, Miss Babcock?"

He was standing with his back to her, cutting a bread roll, and barely bothered to glance over his shoulder as she spoke.

"Niles," CC repeated, approaching him slowly with her hands clasped and her best attempt at a smile. "I know we've had some minor differences in the past … "

He shot her a look of boundless incredulity.

"All right, major differences. But Niles, listen … what's the one thing we have in common?"

"Mutual aggravation?"

"Ye – _No_!" Drat the man. "I meant Maxwell!"

Niles turned back to his roll, splitting it in half and spreading butter on both with maddening precision. "What about Mr. Sheffield?"

"His future's on the line, that's what!" She put a hand on his arm and leaned into his space, too irritated to deal with the butler as calmly as she'd intended. "Pay attention, Hazel – do you realize your boss just re-hired that Queens woman to look after his children? The same one he'd fired after only one day, for dragging the children into a backer's party against his express orders?"

"And that disturbs you because … ?"

"Are you serious?" CC yelped. "Did you see her – drooling over Maxwell and his mansion, prancing around dressed like a hooker, parking her polyester bum on Sara's own chair? We've got a common enemy here, Niles, and I need – you've got to help me drive her out of this house!"

There. Her case made, she took a deep breath to wait for Niles' reply.

"Yes, I've seen her," he retorted, with unflappable calm. "Just as you describe. I've also seen her transform Miss Margaret from caterpillar to butterfly, put a stop to Master Brighton's staged suicides, cause Miss Grace to act her age instead of years above it, and make Mr. Sheffield smile again."

"_I_ can make him smile!" she exclaimed, angry and hurt in equal measure. "We've been getting so close lately, I really thought … "

Was it really only two days ago that Maxwell had let her massage his shoulders in the office, complimented her on planning the party, and told her with a smile how handsome she looked?

"You thought he'd finally give you a collar and take you to the vet? No such luck, eh, Babs?"

"Get away, Toilet Brush!" She flinched away from Niles' attempt to pat her on the head.

Niles drew himself up with fierce dignity (quite inappropriate to his station, CC thought, ignoring the beating of her heart) to meet her eyes.

"That Queens woman, as you call her, has more wisdom, humor and heart in one painted fingernail than the rest of this household put together. If you intend to drive her away, you'll have to go through me."

CC felt his declaration like a punch to the stomach, which surprised her. It made sense to be disappointed at losing a potential ally, but … really … couldn't he at least stop to think first?

"A truck couldn't go through you, Goodyear Blimp. Tch - one pretty pair of legs walks in, and all you men lose your heads. I didn't expect this behavior out of _you,_ Niles."

"Jealous, Miss Babcock?" He leaned towards her, his blue eyes taking on a peculiar gleam.

"Ye – _No!_ Well, yes, for Maxwell's sake! Youcan gawk at your Nanny Fine as much as you want to. You're both servants anyway. I just assumed you were gay, that's all."

With a pointed glance at his apron and oven mitts, she turned to exit the room in a sweep of beige skirts.

"That is _not_ the nature of my interest in Miss Fine," said Niles, stopping her in mid-sweep. For the first time, it was his turn to sound annoyed. "And I'm not gay either."

"Oh, really?" she drawled, in her deepest tone of irony.

"Good afternoon, Miss Babcock," he said, with the subtle intonation that turned the phrase into a British code word for 'get lost' . Miss Babcock took the hint, smiling crookedly, not half as disappointed as she'd been a moment before.

_Not that interested in Nanny Fine, is he? Thank God, that makes at least one man in this house. Maybe he'll come around eventually._


	2. Smoke Gets In Your Lies

_Episode 2 – Smoke Gets In Your Lies_

"Is it my imagination," Fran asked plaintively, nibbling on a muffin at the kitchen table, "Or does Miss Babcock have a problem with me?"

"You mean you can't tell?" asked Niles, raising his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise.

"I dunno, Niles … you're all so _mean _to each other in this house. And not in a caring way, either. How am I s'posed to know who really hates me and who's just followin' the trend?"

Niles looked up from the carrots he was chopping with slightly more genuine, and rather amused, surprise. "A caring way of being mean, Miss Fine?"

"Sure!" She gestured emphatically with the muffin, dropping crumbs all over the table. "Ma nags me about getting married, I nag her about her eating habits, we all laugh at Daddy's toupees … that's, like, Flushing-speak for 'I love you'. But you guys? I can't even begin to crack the code."

She shook her head and sighed, her vivacity shadowed for a moment by real confusion. She was always so cheerful, so outspoken, that it was easy to forget she was out of her element here. Niles left the carrots and sat down opposite her. He knew what that was like.

"Why _doesn't_ Miss Babcock like me?" she asked.

There was a bushel of answers to choose from: _Because you're of the working you look good in the sort of revealing outfits she's too self-conscious ever to wear. Because you have the gift of making people like you, which she never learned. Because you caught Mr. Sheffield's eye in one day, while she's been pining after him for sixteen years. Perhaps even because you are my friend … _That last reason, he dismissed with a severe mental shake.

"I do not presume to plumb the depths of that woman's mind," he said.

"Oy,with the big words." She rolled her eyes. "Are you saying you don't know?"

"I don't know."

"If she thinks I'm into Mr. Sheffield, she can think again," said Fran, scattering crumbs. "Sure he's cute, but he's so … _stuffy._ And I'm sure he'd never go for me … at least not after my stupid story turned Brighton into a smoker."

"Ah, but your punishment method was perfect," Niles reminded her. "You might just have cured the boy's habit for the rest of his life."

Brighton had come back from the nursing home with wide eyes, detailing Grandma Yetta's smoking hack, wheelchair and senility in the most lurid colors.

"Oh, that was Ma's idea. I'll tell her ya said so." Fran grinned.

At that moment, their chat was interrupted by the click of high heels, the swish of a black trenchcoat and a waft of chilled nicotine. _Nobody,_ thought Niles with a private smile, _makes an entrance like Miss Babcock._

"Hello, hello!" declared CC, dropping cigarette ash into Fran's half-empty coffee cup as she walked by.

"Ew, gross!" Fran yelped. "See, Niles? _This_ is why people shouldn't smoke."

"Oh, I thought that was an ashtray. _So_ sorry, Nanny Fine." CC's smile fooled nobody in the room.

"Whatever you do, Miss Babcock," Niles spoke up, "Please don't smoke that in Mr. Sheffield's office. It reeks worse than your Nair, if that's possible."

(One of his many strictly guarded secrets was that he actually liked the scent of aloe vera, especially when unobscured by smoke.)

"Speak for yourself, Lemon Pledge. I'll smoke wherever I like," she said over her shoulder, heading for the winding staircase at the back of the kitchen.

"It will distract Mr. Sheffield," Niles called after her.

She paused and turned around. The hand holding the cigarette hovered uncertainly in the air. "What?"

"You know quite well the effect a pair of scarlet lips smoking a cigarette can have. How's he supposed to work in those conditions?"

Fran opened her mouth to say something, possibly to protest. Niles winked in her direction.

"A-_haaa _… " CC's voice lowered to a purr. She took a long, slow drag on her cigarette, blew the smoke into Niles' face, and smiled at him wickedly. "I get it. _You_ don't want Maxwell to think I'm attractive, you bitter old man. Well, we'll see about that, won't we?"

She ascended the stairs with extra dignity, leaving a cloud of smoke behind as a token of scorn for all impertinent domestics. Niles watched her out of sight, memorizing that blood-red smile of hers. _Maybe this time it finally sank in, please God. Miss Babcock in a cancer ward doesn't bear thinking about._

"Wait for it," he whispered to his confused colleague. "Three … two … one … "

"_CC!_" Mr. Sheffield's scream was audible all through the house, and possibly down the block as well – no intercom necessary "_Get that disgusting thing out of my office!_"

Niles held up his palm to Fran, who laughed heartily as she slapped him a high-five.


	3. My Fair Nanny

_Episode 3 – My Fair Nanny_

"For the last time," said Madame Alexa, emphatically shaking her frizzy head, "I see no tall, dark, handsome – _nothing_ in your future!"

CC's face fell as she withdrew the palm which the fortune-teller had been reading. "I knew hiring _you_ was a bad idea," she muttered. "Catch me letting Nanny Fine throw another party here … "

Niles took the opportunity to glide over in her direction with his drinks tray, knowing how much she appreciated a glass of something at moments like these.

"Please excuse her," he told Madame Alexa. "The estrogen hasn't kicked in yet. Dom Perignon, Miss Babcock?"

"Very funny, Butler Boy." CC snatched up a glass and downed it in one go, like a whiskey shot.

Alexa cackled. "Oh yeah, my cousin Tom – I mean Thomasine – had that problem too. Would you like your palm read too, Mister?"

"No, thank you."

"He already knows," CC interjected, with a cackle of her own and a dig at Niles' ribs. "A lifetime of playing housewife to your employer, how about that?"

"You _wish_ you could," Niles retorted, smiling smugly into her face.

Alexa watched them like a spectator at a tennis match, her straw-colored curls under the green headscarf whipping back and forth. Her eyes gleamed behind their spectacles.

"Wait!" she called dramatically, holding out one hand while covering her eyes with the other. "I see something … my Inner Eye is opening … why, Miss Babcock, I see you in white satin with your hair up, surrounded by candles and roses! You're dancing with a gentleman … aww, you look so happy, the two of you!" She caught CC's hand again, not to read her palm, but for a congratulatory squeeze.

"_Really?_" CC's mouth fell open, surprise almost obscuring delight in a way that might have made Niles pity her if he hadn't been hanging on to Alexa's words as well. It was all nonsense, of course … just a fortune teller's _spiel_ as Miss Fine would say, but still …

"Tell me," CC whispered, her blue eyes fixed hungrily on the older woman's face. "Who is he? What does he look like?"

Alexa pointed one long-nailed finger at Niles – who was neither tall, nor dark, nor especially handsome, who wore his most self-effacing navy blue suit and carried a tray of drinks like the domestic he was.

"Just … like … this!" she declared.

CC dropped Alexa's hand like a hot coal and jumped to her feet.

"You've _got_ to be joking," she and Niles chorused.

Alexa showed them her most mysterious smirk and did not answer.


	4. The Nuchslep

_Episode 4 – The Nuchslep_

When Maxwell Sheffield came home from his business dinner with CC at Le Cirque, he was puzzled to find his butler waiting by the door with an expression of deep reproach.

"What's the matter, old man?" he asked. "Did I misplace another handkerchief?"

Niles sighed, the sort of sigh that builds up over several hours waiting to be aimed at the proper target.

"Mr. Sheffield, do you have any idea what you do to that poor woman?"

"What, Miss Fine? But I haven't done anything!" Unless one counted snapping at her over Brighton's smoking issue, or making her chaperone Maggie's date – but really, his conscience was quite clean in that respect …

"I _refer,_" said Niles, with an exaggerated patience just this side of being condescending, "To Miss Babcock. 'An engagement dog', she said. What have you been saying to put that idea into her head?"

Every motion as he took off his master's coat and hung it up was stiff with suppressed anger. Maxwell laughed nervously.

"Well, I certainly didn't propose, if that's what you're asking. She meant to say 'engaging' – you know, as in charming, which Chester obviously is. It was just a slip of the tongue."

"Oh, really?" Niles' sarcasm was thick enough to cut.

"All I said," Maxwell thought out loud, walking past Niles into the living room, "Was that she deserved someone to come home to … you know, someone who loves her. Then I told her to close her eyes and put out her hand so I could give her Chester's leash. I thought it would be a nice surprise."

"A. Nice. Surprise."

Niles was beyond sarcasm and into deadpan monotony. Maxwell squirmed.

"The dog was your idea," he reminded his butler. "So why'd you get your knickers in a twist about it now? Or CC herself, for that matter. She's been cool to me all evening. I really don't see why – ooh … "

The memory of CC's face caught up to him; the odd tone in which she had whispered his name, with her hand over her heart. _Someone to come home to. Someone who loves you. _

"Dear God," he said, passing his hand over his face to clear his whirling thoughts, "Niles, you … you don't think _she_ thinks … you don't think I'm giving her _ideas_, do you? About her and me? Ideas of the romantic variety?"

Niles threw up his hands . "And the penny drops!"

"Are you serious? Because that's just … I mean, she's my colleague. A colleague who just happens to bear an eerie resemblance to my mother!"

"For some men, that would be an advantage," Niles commented, smiling slightly at last.

"Not for me it isn't!" Helen Sheffield was a dragon in Chanel, a frosty socialite who could ruin her son's week with a five-minute conversation, as both men knew very well.

"If you don't intend to give Miss Babcock _ideas_, sir, I suggest you watch your phrasing," said Niles. "Oh, and no more massages, no matter how tired you get. She practically melted on the floor last time."

Maxwell paused in his round of pacing on the carpet to look sharply at Niles.

"Wait a minute … that may be very sound advice, and I'm certainly grateful, but why are _you _of all people standing up for CC? I thought you two hated each other."

If Niles squirmed (which Maxwell had rarely seen his childhood friend do) he did it internally. Nothing showed on his round, careworn face.

"I have no explanation. Will you be wanting anything else, sir?"

"Oh, no thanks. Good night, Niles," he called over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs.

"Good night, Mr. Sheffield."

_Keep your secrets then, old chap. _Niles and CC's bizarre rivalry was something he'd long since learned not to interfere with.


	5. Here Comes The Brood

_Episode 5 – Here Comes The Brood_

If CC had not been driven to the edge by a day at the zoo with three cranky children, all products of the union between her Maxwell and another woman, all comparing her negatively to Fran, she might not have said what she did. However, there are certain things even a Babcock cannot endure.

"Well!" she exploded. "Let me tell you something about your beloved nanny. She only spends time with you because she gets _paid_ to do it – while I did it for nothing!"

"That's not true … Fran loves us!"

Gracie's small face quivered with tears as she ran from the room, followed by her siblings in an uncharacteristic show of concern. _A common enemy, huh?_ CC thought bleakly. _I might just have gone too far this time._

At that moment, following orders for once _("Niles, bring me anything and make it a double")_, the butler rounded the corner with a very welcome glass of scotch.

"So … next time, Chuck E. Cheese?" he deadpanned.

"Shut up," she sighed, picking up the glass of golden liquid and slumping down on the sofa with a most un-Babcockian lack of grace. "I am _never_ taking those children out again. The moment I marry Maxwell, I'll pack them off to boarding school."

Niles' little snort spoke more than a thousand words.

"See, _this_ is why the upper classes don't raise their own children," she continued, between swigs of scotch. "Common sense. People just aren't fit for polite company until they're at least sixteen, so no wonder we pay some poor slob to keep them out of sight. When _I_ was six, I collected magazines to keep track of my mother's outfits. Oh, and my father's mistresses – can't remember which was more interesting."

She barely noticed what she was saying. The day's outing rewound itself in her brain like some absurd nightmare: Brighton throwing up in her hat, Maggie making them all wait at every single bathroom, all three of them squabbling like monkeys and singing Nanny Fine's praises ad nauseam. _I tried. I honestly tried. God, what is wrong with me? Does this make me an unnatural woman?_

If only they didn't all have Sara's face …

Niles' blue eyes were fixed on her with a soft, mysterious expression, one she could have sorn was pity except that it was too ridiculous. No one pitied CC. At least, no one with a healthy sense of self-preservation.

"If you don't stop staring at me, Rochester, this scotch will end up decorating your secondhand jacket."

He looked away, then rearranged his expression into his customary pokerface. "Just curious about your hair, Miss Babcock. Did you have birds nesting in it?"

She touched her crooked ponytail and dishevelled bangs with a brusque laugh. "Oh, that. At least _my_ hair isn't falling out."

Memories of Sara forgotten for the moment, she congratulated herself at the hit she had scored; Niles was as vain as any man about his hairline.

"Yours will too if you don't leave off the bleach. And don't tell me you're not using any; I've known you since you were a natural brunette."

As he walked away, she found herself smiling almost despite herself. Nothing like a good verbal sparring match to lighten the mood.

/

Niles, who had a sixth sense where the Sheffield household was concerned, caught the little runaway halfway out the kitchen door.

"Just where do you think you're going, Miss Grace?" he asked, intending to be stern, but softening at the sight of her red eyes and tear-streaked face.

"I need to talk to Fran," she sniffed. "To see if it's true what CC said."

"Young lady," he said, bending down towards her and placing a hand on her shoulder, "Let me tell you a little secret."

She blinked up at him curiously.

"Miss Babcock may _look _like an adult," he said in a low, conspiratorial voice, "But in her heart, she's really not much older than you. Do you remember the time your friend Willie threw crayons at you because you wouldn't invite him to your birthday party?"

Gracie nodded, comprehension dawning on her face. "You mean she's acting out because she feels excluded?"

"Exactly."

"Does it have anything to do with the way Daddy looks at Fran?"

"Possibly."

"So you think she's wrong?" Grace asked. "About Fran, I mean."

"Absolutely." He tugged gently on her ponytail, making her smile. "Would any of your other nannies have taken care to reconcile Mr. Sheffield with Miss Margaret after he caught her kissing that waiter? Or brought Master Brighton to a senior residence to frighten him off smoking?"

Grace giggled at the latter memory. "No."

"And who was it who taught you how to hunt for bargains? Remember the lovely dress you wore to your first investors' party – is that the work of a woman who doesn't care?"

Grace pondered the question for a long moment, her head tilted to one side.

"I don't _think_ so? … But I'd rather hear it from Fran herself, if you don't mind. It's the only way I'll get closure."

Niles shrugged. He could see that, like a true Sheffield, she was determined to have her way. Besides, this was the perfect idea for a prank on both CC and Maxwell. At first, knowing them, they probably wouldn't even notice Grace's disappearance, which would make them feel doubly guilty (and doubly fond of the lonely little girl) once they found her.

"Well, if you _must_ go," he conceded, "At least let me drive you to her flat. New York is no place for a child to travel alone."


	6. The Butler, The Husband, The Wife

_Episode 6 – The Butler, The Husband, The Wife And Her Mother_

Messrs. Jeeves and Fairchild of the National Butlers' Association were at their wits' end. Their evaluation of the candidate Niles Brightmore was proceeding in a most unusual manner; first had come that strange business of changing roles with his employer (for reasons which the two gentlemen still did not fully understand, but they gathered it had to do with the loud Jewish nanny), and now, the interviews they were conducting with the Sheffield family had produced such contradictory opinions of the candidate that they were considering tossing a coin on the question. The responses were the following:

Mr. Sheffield: "He's my best and oldest friend, and I wouldn't part with him for the world, but quite frankly, there are times he drives me up the wall. Sometimes I really feel like _he's_ in charge, and I'm just there to earn the salary. Though I must say, he's an excellent housekeeper. Not a speck of dirt anywhere."

Margaret: "He just doesn't seem to get the concept of _privacy_. Every time I'm on the phone with my boyfriend, he's there hovering with his duster, listening to every word I say, and _smirking._"

Brighton: "He wears Dad's old clothes. He thinks we don't notice, but I can tell. He's really cool though, especially when he's insulting CC – that's Dad's business partner and she's a witch. I wanna be like Niles when I grow up. Except with a Sheffield trust fund."

Grace: "He wanted to be a lawyer when he was young, but Grandpa Sheffield made him give it up to become Daddy's butler. Now he's living vicariously through Daddy, since taking care of all of us is the closest he'll ever get to being rich himself. It makes him a little bitter, but he never takes it out on us. When I had nightmares after Mommy died, he used to bring me warm milk and tell me stories until I got back to sleep."

Francine Fine: "If y'ask me, this family would be so _vermisht_ without him! That guy is up all day, scrubbin' bathrooms, cookin' five-star meals, dustin' all them _tchotchkes_ on those little tables … I swear, I heard the kids call him up at _two_ in the morning to bring a snack or check out some creaky noise – no, that was me. Never mind. Anyway, there wasn't much call for butlers in my old neighborhood in Flushing, Queens – you guessed? Oy, are you smart! – but from what I can tell, if anybody belongs in that Association of yours, our Niles is the one. Did I tell you he's still callin' me Miss Fine, even though we've been coworkers for more'n a month? Now _that's_ classy."

Glancing over their note pads, Jeeves and Fairchild shook their venerable heads and came to the conclusion that one more vote was needed. Hence the presence of the formidable blonde sitting opposite them in Mr. Sheffield's study, gripping her purse tight enough to leave marks in the black leather. She had swept into the room in spite of Brightmore's protest (_"But she doesn't even live here! And besides, I guarantee you this woman's account will be biased against me!"_) and they had been prepared for any number of wild and scandalous stories, but not for this.

Absolute silence.

"Well, ma'am? Do you have anything to say?"

CC Babcock bit her lip in angry confusion. This should have been it: her chance to finally get revenge on the man who'd been a thorn in her side for sixteen years. To get back at him for all those nasty little jabs about her weight, her character, her social life or lack thereof; for his constant sabotage of her campaign for Maxwell's heart; for every practical joke. To take away what he valued so much: the clearing of his family name, the acceptance and respect of his peers. This should have been perfect.

It was not.

This would make him miserable. She could picture it now: Niles brooding over his morning cup of tea, wielding his feather duster in abstracted silence, not even answering her initial zinger. Or – and this was a frightening possibility – his insults might get worse.

Or what if he _quit_?

CC had several rationalizations on call:_ . I'm the only one allowed to humiliate him, not these stuffy old vultures. I don't want to deprive Maxwell of an old family servant. I'd be bored without his vitriol to spice things up_ The truth (which she refused to admit even to herself) was that she simply did not like to see Niles unhappy.

She took a deep breath.

"He's very … competent," she said. "His service has been, and still is, quite valuable to the Sheffields. Especially since Mrs. Sheffield passed away. You do realize, being butlers yourselves, that the work Niles actually does is not what he trained for? At the Sheffield family estate in England, he would have been overseeing a staff of dozens. In _this_ house, he does all the work himself. The nanny doesn't count; all _she_ ever does is flirt with Maxwell. It's really Niles who's holding the place together."

CC grimaced; just like Nanny Fine, she was wandering off on tangents in the middle of her speech. _Good grief … since when do I have so many compliments for the Butler Boy in my head? And if I don't shut up soon, what other sorts of nonsense might come out?_

"My point is … if five interviews and one ridiculous charade didn't convince you to accept Niles into your little club, then I really don't think much of your intelligence. Of course, one must allow for that among the lower classes. Goodbye."

Jeeves' and Fairchild's jaws dropped with indignation. CC ignored them as she marched out of the room.

"Oh, and one more thing," she said, whirling around with her hand on the doorknob.

"For God's sake, don't tell him what I said."


	7. Imaginary Friend

_Episode 7 – Imaginary Friend_

CC had just briefly left Maxwell's office to fetch them both another cup of tea; it was not her intention to be sidetracked, but the music coming from the living room drew her close in spite of herself. She hovered by the sliding doors, trying not to be seen, watching Niles, Nanny Fine and the children absorbed in a cartoon. The nanny had her arm around the youngest girl and her frizzy head leaning on Niles' shoulder. Even the boy and the teenager weren't bickering for once, but amicably sharing a bowl of popcorn. They looked ridiculously happy, she thought. Like something out of a postcard.

"Please stop hovering, Miss Babcock," said Niles, without turning around. "Either join us or go away. _Bambi _is a serious matter in this house."

CC rolled her eyes, remembering the other woman's obnoxious question the other day: _"When Bambi's mother died, did you find that a sad moment? … At all?"_ She'd come up with an even more obnoxious answer in defense – _"I'm sure she's mounted on a wall in a nice home" _– but the truth was, she'd never actually seen the thing, unless you counted the time when she was two years old. She knew via popcultural osmosis that _Bambi _was a Disney movie about a fawn whose mother is shot by a hunter, but not much else.

"I don't watch cartoons, Niles," she declared haughtily, pretending not to see the lovely cel animation on the screen: the frozen river covered in snow, the elegant doe and her little spotted fawn. "I'm a grown woman, after all."

"Really?" came Niles' laconic reply. "I never noticed."

The doe onscreen pricked up one ear. Gracie, who knowing her had watched this scene a dozen times, hid her face in Nanny Fine's curls. The Jewish woman's black eyes met CC's in a silent plea to leave. _Just for that_, CC thought obstinately, _I'm not moving an inch. What do they expect me to do, bite the little one's head off?_

A gunshot rang out. The deer ran, leaping across the ice and snow in graceful, terrified arcs. Water fountained up around them as it began to snow. CC was nine again, hurrying behind the fur-coated figure of her mother. Watching the deer's crimson bloodstains sink into the snow, and her mother's blood-red lips curve into a triumphant smile.

"_There's so much blood, Mama. I didn't know … I thought you said this was going to be fun."_

"_All Babcocks are hunters, sweetheart. You'll learn to like it, I promise."_

And she had learned. She was an excellent huntress. So why did she suddenly feel weak in the knees? She dropped onto the sofa and grabbed hold of the nearest warm and reassuring thing she could find.

"_Move_, you furry idiots," she whispered through gritted teeth. "Just over that hill and – "

The second shot interrupted her.

Being a Disney death, of course it took place offscreen, leaving her to imagine all the so familiar details: the doe's slim legs collapsing under her, the bullet hole, the red drops glistening in the snow, the hunter approaching to gut the cadavre. The camera focused on Bambi, peering out from behind a tree as heavy snow fell.

"Mother?" he called.

The blurred silhouette of a stag appeared through the falling snow, gazing down at Bambi with sorrowful compassion.

"Your mother," he said, "Can't be with you anymore."

"_Your father won't be with you tonight, Chastity. We're getting a divorce."_

CC looked away, swallowing a most inconvenient lump in her throat. To her absolute horror, her line of sight landed on a pair of hands clasped together on the beige sofa cushion: one belonging to her, the other to Niles. They glanced up at each other and simultaneously let go.

"Dear God, woman," Niles grumbled, shaking his hand as if to dislodge something slimy, "Are you trying to cut off my circulation?"

"You're covered in popcorn grease, disgusting!" she shot back, fishing a linen handkerchief out of her suit pocket.

"Well, at least I know what to cook next time you stay for dinner," he whispered evilly. "Venison?"

"Delicious," she purred, pasting on an extra-wide smile. _If he thinks one stupid cartoon will make me sentimental … _

A shrill, imperious voice interrupted them both. "Shush, both of ya! The 'twitterpated' scenes are comin' up. Though why even woodland creatures get more action than I do, I'll never understand … "

Once Nanny Fine began whining about her love life (as if she hadn't already sank her painted claws into Maxwell!), CC had learned it was time to make herself scarce. Not only was her litany annoying, but it never failed to inspire Niles to greater heights of cattiness about CC's own romantic failures. She stood up, tugged her jacket into shape, and marched away in the direction of Maxwell's office – but not without a final glance at the back of Niles' blond head and the lush green forest onscreen.


	8. Christmas Episode

_Episode 8 – Christmas Episode_

_This beats the record for the worst Christmas of my life,_ thought CC sourly, staring out the window into a pile of clouds below the airplane.

She shouldn't have knocked that Santa-suited charity fundraiser out with his own bell. The bribes she'd had to give the security guards not to arrest her were astronomical. Besides, it was not only wrong, but plain undignified – conduct unworthy of a Babcock. Saying one just couldn't help it was no excuse. Still, it was all the excuse she had.

Maxwell had abandoned her at the airport, taking advantage of the delayed flight to visit Saint Patrick's with his servants and children. Then he'd called to tell her he had sat on a vase, of all things (serve him right for giving Nanny Fine such an elaborate gift, and since when did he give presents to his staff anyway?) and she would have to travel alone. To a charity benefit. Even though she hated airplanes. Even though she'd have to charm potential donors and make herself likeable, which had always been Maxwell's side of the business. All so her handsome but deluded partner could have what he saw as a proper family Christmas. Family Christmases were overrated. Hadn't she come through her childhood perfectly well without them?

That fundraiser in his stupid costume, ringing, ringing, ringing that stupid bell … she could still hear it ringing inside her head.

The plane gave a shudder, making her grip the armrests of her seat until her knuckles turned white. She was starting to regret that last glass of wine. Even in business class, planes still made her stomach squirm. She dove for the purse under her seat and began rooting through it, searching for her motion-sickness pills. Triumphantly, her hand closed around the small plastic bottle, pulled it out and –

"Damn it, Niles!" she snarled out loud, ignoring a glare from the white-haired businessman in the seat next to hers. It had to be Niles. Who else would have replaced her pills with red and green Tic Tacs?

There was a small piece of paper rolled into the bottle, which she pulled out and unfolded. In green ink and a precise, elegant cursive, it read: _Any more drugs, Babcock, and I'll stage an intervention. Merry Christmas._

She snorted, popped a handful of Tic Tacs, and resigned herself to a long and nauseous flight. All the same, the thought of Niles made her momentarily forget her grim mood. She smirked like a cat who'd found the cream. _Just wait until you find _my_ present,Rochester … _

/

"_Cooking For Dummies_?" Niles read off the cover of a fat yellow paperback, sounding affronted as only an Englishman can. "Now where did this come from?"

"Isn't there a name on it?" asked Maxwell.

Niles peered at the golden wrapping paper he had just neatly removed. "Just mine."

"Maybe it's from Santa," suggested Gracie, still glowing with renewed faith since that broken vase had made her Christmas wish come true.

"I would hope Father Christmas knows better than to suggest – hmm … " flipping through the book, Niles paused at a particularly tasty-looking photograph of a roast turkey and was distracted by the recipe on the next page.

_Well, bless my soul, _he thought. _Even for a professional like me, this might actually be useful. Not that I'd tell the Sheffields, after all. One does have one's dignity to uphold._

_Just wait until you come back, CC Babcock … _


	9. Personal Business

_Episode 9 – Personal Business_

"I've got some news you'll be interested in," said Niles in a sing-song voice as he leaned over the sofa where CC sat. She was absorbed in watching _One Day After Another_, but at the sound of his voice, she immediately looked up and muted the sound.

"Go on, Butler Boy," she said, with an affected air of boredom.

"What's it worth to you?" he purred.

"Oh, nothing." She shrugged. "But since you're obviously dying to tell me, you might as well spit it out."

"Well … " He circled around to sit next to her, pointedly casual. "I just happened to notice that Miss Fine came back from her date at a rather late hour last night." 'Happened to notice' meaning 'waited in the kitchen until she arrived', and 'late' meaning about two a. m., which now made his eyelids feel heavy as lead – not that he was complaining.

"Oh, good!" CC chirped, smiling like a shoulder-padded angel. "She and Brock must have had a _wonderful_ time together. I told Maxwell it was the right thing to do, didn't I?"

"Yes, and that should have warned him," Niles couldn't resist shooting back. "As a matter of fact, Brock Storm made some unwelcome advances, Miss Fine rebuffed him in a manner which she implied would leave him 'singing high notes'" – CC's jaw dropped – "And what's more, Mr. Sheffield waited in this very parlor until she came home. Ever since _you_ persuaded him to use Miss Fine as a bribe to lure Storm into your next show, the poor man's conscience has been tormenting him without rest. I hope you're satisfied."

Judging by the queasy exprssion on CC's face, she definitely was not.

"Nanny Fine did _what_?"

"So she claims."

"She can't be serious."

"I wouldn't put it past her. Stiletto heels on a righteously angry New Yorker can be formidable weapons."

"Oh, my God …"

"I know."

"The show's ruined!" said CC, throwing up her hands.

Niles looked at her sharply; she ignored him and continued: "He'll never accept Maxwell's deal after this. Andrew Lloyd Webber will get him for sure. And what if he _sues_ us? God, if the press finds out, they'll be on this like sharks after blood. 'Nanny Castrates Soap Star', what a nightmare … "

Niles shook his head in scornful incredulity. Just when he thought he was getting used to CC, she'd sink to an even lower level of callousness.

"The _press_, Miss Babcock? When a woman you know has to defend herself from sexual harassment, is that really all you think about?"

CC lowered her eyes, but did not say a word in her defense. Her hands, clasped together in her designer-clad lap, were white with pressure. It was impossible to tell whether she felt regret for her thoughtless words, anger towards him, or both.

Niles stood up and headed for the kitchen doors, hoping that a few moments alone would allow her some time to think. When she called after him, he froze in his tracks.

"At least I don't make Hitler jokes in front of a Jew!"

She was referring to his recent comment on her Adolfo blouse, which had barely registered with Miss Fine, let alone offending her.

Niles sighed. There was so much wrong with this woman, he barely knew where to begin … so why, now that he was no longer next to her, did he feel suddenly cold?


	10. The Nanny In Law

_Episode 10 – The Nanny-In-Law_

"Hey, now … what's the matter, Rochester?" said CC. "Any more of that and you'll bust out of your apron."

Niles, who had been contemplating a large bowl of custard pudding in silent abstraction, rolled his eyes at her, ignoring the odd, quiet tone of her voice – which, from anyone but CC, might have been called kind.

"_You're_ what's the matter, Babcock. A man can't even eat his pudding in peace?"

He scooped up another spoonful, watching the pale creamy substance catch the light from the kitchen window. Clara Müller's earthy laugh echoed in his mind: _We've earned it, haven't we, Liebster?_ Sharing sweets after making love had been a tradition of theirs from the beginning, since he was sixteen and she was thirty. They had romped and chased each other like children, Clara smiling and telling him he made her feel young again. Her recent visit had repaid that favor rwice over, but now that she was gone – his mentor, his first love, his friend – had left all his forty-five years to fall back on his shoulders with a crushing weight.

As he was thinking this, however, CC did a most surprising thing. She grabbed a spoon from the open drawer, sat down opposite him, and dug into the bowl with unladylike enthusiasm. About to protest, he saw her clearly for the first time and realized how pale she was.

"I miss her too, you know," was all she said. "It was so nice to have a _proper_ nanny in Maxwell's house for once."

Of course. CC's own nanny had been German too, and of a similar nature – strict, no-nonsense, but with a heart of gold. Reading between the lines of CC's rare mentions of her family, "Nanny Bobo" had probably cared more for her than her own mother. Add that to the fact that stout, middle-aged Clara would never compete with CC for Mr. Sheffield (Niles' employer, for all his fine qualities, was somewhat shallow when it came to a woman's looks), and it was quite understandable that CC would be in need of some high-calorie comfort.

"Now give me that," she added gruffly, snagging the edge of the bowl to pull it closer. "Even you couldn't finish it all alone."


	11. A Plot For Nanny

_Episode 11 – A Plot For Nanny_

"I hate these shoes," groaned CC, kicking off her Manolo Blahniks as she collapsed on the Sheffields' living-room sofa.

"The feeling appears to be mutual," said Niles, wrinkling his nose. "I've sliced Limburger cheeses less fragrant than your feet."

Just to annoy him, CC drew her objectionable feet right up onto the couch, within four inches of his legs. His eyes travelled along the line of her black pantyhose all the way to her skirt, but he made no further comment, for which she was grateful. Absorbed in coffee and the _New York Times' _culture section (Sheffield Productions' latest play was being damned with faint praise again, which in her opinion was worse than an outright trashing), she did not hear Niles' next remark until he poked her left foot with his pen.

"What?"

"I said, why wear those preposterous shoes if you hate them so much?"

CC put down the newspaper and leaned her head against the pillow, partly because it ached, mostly to hide her face from Niles' too-observant blue eyes. She thought of the way Maxwell's eyes followed Nanny Fine every time she climbed the staircase – taking her own sweet time about it, knowing quite well how those cheap six-inch heels set off her shapely calves.

"I wasn't aware I had to account for my fashion choices to _you_, apron man."

"Tsk, tsk. Someone hasn't been taking her happy pills this morning."

She sat up straight again to make a sharp reply, but was interrupted by the stomping feet, cloying perfume and aggrieved sigh of the eldest Sheffield daughter, who looked like a bad director's vision of a Parisian coffee-house existentialist: black leather jacket, short skirt, beret and an adoloescent pout.

"I hate this hat," groaned Maggie, flinging the beret onto the coffee table as she collapsed into an armchair opposite them.

"Then why wear it?" asked Niles, with his most aggravating air of patience and reason.

"I thought it would make me look older," said the teenager. "More sophisticated, like Philip and friends. But it keeps falling off and … and makes my hair all staticky!"

She ran her hands through her soft blond bob with comical despair, making CC snort. _You think you've got it bad, missy?_ She was half expecting Niles to put the girl in her place with one of his zingers – of the polite variety, of course; no barnyard jokes for the Sheffields – but the smile on his face, to her confusion, was less a smile of amusement than of sympathy.

"Then don't wear it," he said. "You needn't compromise yourself for anyone."

It was not only Maggie he was looking at – however, as usual, CC showed no sign of hearing the advice.


	12. The Show Must Go On

_12. The Show Must Go On_

_Tap. Tap. Tappity-tap. Tappity-tap-tap-tap._ The sound of Miss Grace's shoes on the newly waxed floor was driving Niles insane. What was Mr. Sheffield thinking of, to push his little lead actress so hard that she didn't even stop rehearsing in her own home? And where, in the name of sanity, was Gracie even getting all that energy? She was usually so quiet for her age.

_Tap-tap-tappity-tap. _Niles ground his teeth as he headed for her room.

What he saw beside the doorway was the proverbial last straw: CC Babcock, coming down the hallway with a bowlful of M&M's and a can of Coca-Cola. The moment she caught sight of him, she gave a guilty start.

"Babcock." He folded his arms and blocked Gracie's door. "I didn't think even you could sink this low."

"I – I don't know what you're talking about."

"I know you'd love to see Miss Fine blamed for the failure of the play, but I don't see why Miss Grace's health has to suffer for it. So hand over that … that sugar-coated sludge and nobody gets hurt, understood?"

He didn't know what to expect from her, but not to see her flush with righteous anger and practically shove the candy into his arms.

"Is that what you think, Butler Boy? That I actually _want_ to see the little one break down onstage? Do you have any idea how many calories tap-dancing takes out of you? How tired she must be? Don't you know how absolutely brutal school plays can be for such an insecure little girl, especially with a father who … Oh, never mind. Of course you don't."

She turned away and braced one hand against the doorframe, shoulders slumped, her face in shadow. Niles thought of his own father, a warm and sturdy presence, quietly teaching him the art of the perfect dinner menu and how to put on a bow tie. Then he thought of Mr. Sheffield, lecturing Gracie as if she were one of his hard-boiled Broadway actresses. He wondered what CC had been like as a little girl, and if anyone had worried about her sugar intake then.

"You should never give candy to children after five o'clock," he said, more quietly. "It prevents them from sleeping. Miss Grace will need her sleep if she's to do well at the rehearsal tomorrow."

CC only nodded, still refusing to meet his eyes.

"I'll bring her some warm milk with honey," he added.

There was an awkward pause, in which neither of them knew what to say. Niles considered, and dismissed, several ideas: _Thank you for the gesture, Miss Babcock? I had no idea you were capable of kindness? What in God's name happened to you when you were a child?_

As always, he chose what, for them, had become the path of least resistance: "Or you could go in and talk to her about your love life. I'm sure that would lull her right to sleep."

"Or you could tell her about yours," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "But on second thought, don't. You'd give her nightmares."

Still, she was smiling as she sauntered past him, taking a handful of M&M's for good measure.


	13. Maggie the Model

_13. Maggie the Model_

"Oh, Maxwell!" CC's hand went to her heart and her eyes widened, in such a forced attempt at sympathy that Niles could barely keep a straight face as he entered his employer's office. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Of all the fake, phony, self-absorbed … "

"It's all right, Miss Babcock," Niles interrupted. "I'm sure he'll forgive you."

"I was _talking _about _Chloe_," she snarled, shooting a venomous glare at him from her position on the green sofa. "Can you believe she actually stood him up?"

"Yes, all right!" said Maxwell, who was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, looking severely in need of the hot tea Niles was bringing. "Now that everyone in the house knows, can we please stop talking about it?"

"Oh dear." Niles felt sorry for his friend, but quite frankly, he understood why CC's joy was so transparent. Hating Chloe was one of the few things he and his longtime nemesis had in common, and the sooner she stopped playing fast and loose with Maxwell, the better.

"Still, sir, don't you think it's for the best? After all, Ms. Simpson hardly has the best track record where relationships are concerned."

"That's right," CC chimed in. "I mean, that woman's gone through more men than Liz Taylor, even if you count Richard Burton three times."

Niles, who could not help admiring the insult, smirked and held out his hand to CC for a high-five. She eyed it narrowly, shrugged, and slapped his palm so briefly he almost didn't feel it.

Maxwell drew himself up, summoning dignity like a cloak, and looked down at both his employees with cold disapproval.

"I will not hear a word said against Chloe," he said. "We've had our differences, but that does not mean that you have the right to insult her in my presence. For God's sake, at least have the decency to wait until I'm out of earshot!"

CC sighed.

"He's like a Jane Austen hero sometimes, isn't he?" she murmured, in a tone so low that only Niles could hear. "So cute … "

"Well," said Niles, waving a hand in front of her face to focus her dreamy eyes on him, "We all know who Mrs. Norris would be, don't we?"

"Oh yes," was CC's glib response. "I would _pay_ to see you in a bonnet."

Since it didn't seem appropriate to high-five her for an insult to himself, Niles settled for a snort.

At the very least, he thought, noticing Maxwell's wry look of amusement, their antics had taken his master's mind off his broken heart. If that was what it took, he would spar with CC all day.


	14. The Family Plumbing

_14. The Family Plumbing_

"I'm curious, Miss Babcock," said Niles. "Would you say there's a double standard in today's society when it comes to men and women? Miss Fine has some very interesting observations on that subject, don't you, Miss Fine?"

Fran, sitting opposite Niles at the kitchen table, waved a chocolate chip cookie at him in emphatic agreement. The two employees looked very comfortable together, like old friends, even though they had been working together less than a year. CC paused in the doorway for a moment, then shook her head and marched right in.

"What makes you think I'd be interested in what Nanny Fine has to say?" she muttered, pouncing on the coffeepot like a lioness who has discovered a water hole.

"Oy, did you ever get up on the wrong side of the bed!" Fran took a bite out of her cookie, crunched it cheerfully, and continued with her mouth full. "Look, all I'm sayin' is, it's time for you fellas to get used to bein' looked at the way you look at us. You're not ashamed of checkin' out those showgirls the other day, are ya, Niles?"

"Indeed not."

Niles leaned back in his chair, smug as a cat in cream. CC, remembering those skinny young dancers in their leotards and the glazed looks in Niles' and Maxwell's eyes, scowled into her cup.

"So I don't see why Mr. Sheffield's got his boxers in a twist just because I – "

"Ah, ah, ah, Miss Fine. You promised to let _me_ be the one to tell her, remember?"

CC's stomach lurched. Anything that made Niles sound like _this_ had to be bad news for her. She really ought to leave the room right now – but curiosity held her fast.

"Tell whom?" she snapped. "What? What is it?"

"Oh, nothing," Niles chirped. "Just a little _contretemps_ Miss Fine had with Mr. Sheffield in the shower."

CC choked on a mouthful of hot coffee and leaned against the counter to steady herself. The burning in her lungs matched a similar sensation in her heart.

"Niles!" Fran reached out to swat the butler's shoulder with one red-nail-polished hand, then jumped to her feet. "Take it easy, Miss Babcock. Here, I'll help - "

"_NO!_" CC snarled, forcing her voice through the roughness of her throat. She backed away from Fran's hands all the way around the table. "Don't - don't touch me! I'm fine!"

"Okay, okay!" Fran held up both hands in surrender. "Calm down. It was just an accident, anyway. I thought it was Brighton and Tiffany again, kissing in the shower like last time, so I went in to stop them and, wouldn't ya know it, there was Mr. Sheffield." She giggled. "I didn't even see anything. Well, not much. It was only like a few seconds. Except for that soap-on-a-rope I gave him for Christmas. Which is kinda nice, actually. I mean, I'm glad he's still using it."

The contented, almost wifely smile which suddenly lit up Fran's face was not encouraging to CC's peace of mind.

"I agree with Miss Fine," added Niles. "I don't see why he's so embarrassed. According to her, he has _nothing _whatsoever to be embarrassed about."

CC snatched up a cookie and bit into it savagely, too angry even to appreciate Niles' excellent baking, in orer to buy time to think of an appropriate zinger.

"Poor little butler boy," she sneered. "Still jealous of your master. Admit it, you'd do anything to take his place."

"I would," he admitted serenely. "Just as you would do anything to take Miss Fine's."

Such are the vagaries of the human mind that, for a moment, CC's imagination presented her with a mortifying flash of herself walking in on Niles in the shower, wearing soap-on-a-rope – and nothing else.

Cursing him under her breath, she found it necessary to hide her burning face in one of the kitchen cupboards.


	15. Deep Throat

_15. Deep Throat_

"Everyone … allow me to introduce … the light of my life, Maxwell Sheffield!"

CC's announcement fell into a dead silence. While she had been waiting, tossing down one glass of punch after another, dancing to the hackneyed salsa music on the speakers and slowly losing her grip on what remained of her self-respect, the other reunion guests had gone – every single one of them. The only human being to witness Maxwell's arrival was an elderly janitor sweeping up the fallen streamers and dirty napkins. Drunkenly, CC wondered why he didn't sweep her up as well.

"I think we'd better go," said Maxwell, gently detaching her arm from around his shoulders.

"I think … you're right."

He kept her arm linked through his as she made her stumbling way to the taxi outside. Even now, she appreciated the warmth of him; even her black cashmere wrapper was not enough to keep off the chill of a spring night. She waited to speak until they were inside the taxi, with the plastic barrier solidly in place between them and the driver. What she had to say should not be overheard.

"How could you _do_ this to me, Maxwell?" she burst out, with a sob that shook her entire body.

"I'm srry, CC," he retorted, not sounding sorry at all. "But what did you expect me to do, leave Miss Fine on her own?"

"On her own? Ha!" Beyond dignity, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose with the expensive wrapper. "She had Niles and the children right there with her. I was the one left on my own! I was counting on you to be there, and you … you threw me to the wolves!"

"Don't be dramatic, CC. It's only a reunion."

"Easy for you to say!" She closed her eyes and leaned back into her seat, then opened them again. The taxi smelled disgustingly of cigarettes and alcohol; even though the latter was probably her own fault, it did not agree with her long-suffering digestion.

"You have no idea … what these women are like, Maxwell," she sobbed. "They're … they're vicious. I'd almost rather have my tonsils out again than go to another of these parties. I told them you were coming. I made a complete fool of myself. They probably think I made you up or something, and they're all giggling at me behind their backs. If I have to hear one more fake-pitying 'Awww!' because I'm single and have no children … "

"Then why in Heaven's name do you keep spending time with them?"

"Because … because they're the only friends I have."

"_I'm_ your friend, CC," said Maxwell. "I thought you knew that."

"I know."

CC heard herself say this almost from a distance, and for a moment, she felt a strange, distant sort of pity. Who was the woman saying these things? Why was she here, pathetically drunk, rattling along in a filthy taxi with a man who didn't love her?

"Oh God, Niles is right," she slurred. "At least when he offers something … even if it's just a, a clean toilet or a piece of cake or something … people take it. Who in this world wants anything from me?"

"Come on, partner." Maxwell awkwardly reached out to pat her hand, the way she had seen him do with his daughters when they were upset. "I'd be lost without your head for business. Even Niles respects you in his way."

"Hmph!"

"No, really, he does. I've known him since we were boys. He wouldn't spend half so much time sparring with you if he didn't consider you worth his time."

Sober CC would have made him a withering retort to prove just how little she cared about the opinions of a butler. Intoxicated CC was absurdly gratified by the idea that Niles respected her.

"Don't you dare tell him about tonight," were the last coherent words she managed to say.

"Not a word," said Maxwell. "Scout's honor."


	16. Schlepped Away

_16. Schlepped Away_

"Maxwell," whispered CC, climbing into the pull-out bed on the Fines' couch, "I hope you don't mind … Brighton insisted we switch places."

That was a polite lie; the truth was that she simply couldn't stand to share a bed with that little troll for one more minute. Being cooped up in a tacky little apartment with three children, Niles, the Fine family and their neighbor was beginning to grate on her last nerve; there was nothing like a family to make one feel left out in the cold.

She wrapped her arm around the waist of her bedfellow, drawing close against him in the dark. He was so warm. It was the best she'd felt in months, no, years … God, how she'd needed this!

"If you're looking for a hot water bottle," said Niles, "That's not it."

She recognized him the moment he spoke. Fourteen years of habit ordered her to recoil from him in disgust and find another place to sleep – anywhere, even with the children if necessary – but her body hesitated for a moment too long. It was absurd, it was pointless, it was twisted – but she did not want to let Niles Brightmore go.

Only the dread of what he might say next made her pull away.

"It's too damn cold to argue, Tidy Bowl," she said.

"Cold? You do realize this house has a perfectly functioning heater."

"Well, it's much too low and I'm dressed for the Caribbean."

"I suppose you'd bruise, too, if someone put a pea under your twenty mattresses?"

"We can't all be insulated by fat." CC poked him in the stomach, annoyed with herself for not recognizing him earlier. She should have _felt_ the difference.

"Look, Niles," she coaxed, using the voice she saved for reluctant investors. "You don't want to sleep on the floor and I don't want to sleep with three kicking 's all there is to it, right? It's only common sense."

"Never thought I'd see the day when you were begging to share my bed, Miss Babcock."

"Oh, shut up and scootch over," said CC, who took that as a yes.

She settled down with her back to him, careful not to touch any part of his body. When morning came and they woke up spooned together, with her hand over his heart and every curve of their bodies aligned, well … that could not be helped.

"_Oy gevalt_!" exclaimed Fran in a loud whisper, clutching Maxwell's arm, when they caught sight of the sleeping pair. "First my Ma and the butcher, now this! Mr. Sheffield, before the world ends, can I have Maggie's Prada purse?"

Maxwell laughed softly. "Poor old CC. At least she's getting _some_ enjoyment from this trip."


	17. Stop the Wedding

_17. Stop The Wedding, I Want To Get Off_

"Miss Sheffield," Niles asked softly. "Are you awake?"

"Come in," came the voice on the other side of the door.

Jocelyn Sheffield was not only still awake – at eleven p. m., no less – but still dressed, sitting on her bed with her knees drawn up and a glass of wine in one hand. She blinked up at him with eyes red from crying. This was not how a woman should look on the night before her wedding.

"If this is about the catering," she said, trying to smile, "I have complete confidence - "

"This is not about the catering." He closed the door behind him and advanced a few steps, until he stood by the foot of her bed. "Though it is about your wedding. May I sit down?"

"Of – of course." She put down her glass on the nightstand and gestured nervously, the Duke's diamond noticeably absent on her hand.

"Our families have known each other for a long time, haven't they?"

"Oh, since the Middle Ages at least," she giggled. "Why? What's the matter?

"More to the point, Miss Sheffield, _you_ know me."

"Of course I do."

"You know that I rarely hesitate to speak my mind, especially when the welfare of my employer – or anyone connected to him – is concerned. They call me 'nosy', 'impertinent', 'interfering', but I only interfere for their own good. And on that note, Miss Sheffield, I feel it is my duty to ask you: are you absolutely certain that the Duke of Salisbury will make you happy?"

Jocelyn's face, which had been flushing deeper and deeper all the while as he spoke, finally crumpled up like a used tissue. Her mouth trembled; tears came sliding down her cheeks. She might have been six years old again, crying because her brothers had locked her out of their tree house. Niles sat down on the bed and gathered her into his arms, just as he had done then.

"You're right," she whispered against his shoulder. "That was _not_ an appropriate question."

"Is it Lester?"

"How did you know?" She pulled away, shook her golden head, and smiled tearfully. "Never mind. Of course you know. Oh, Niles, do you think if I had any hope, I'd still be doing this?" She shot a glare at her wedding dress, which was hanging on the open closet door. "Don't you think, if – if he cared anything about me – he would have _said_ something by now?"

Niles' glance fell on her nightstand, where a vase of peach-colored roses stood next to a video cassette of the film _Sabrina._ It was his turn to shake his head. Jocelyn, sweet as she was, appeared to have inherited the family tendency to miss what was right before their noses.

"With all due respect, Miss, I don't think you understand," he replied. "You don't know what it's like for a man in his position. Declaring himself is a risk he can't afford to take. If you were to reject him – "

"But I wouldn't!"

"It would either make every drive a misery, or force him to give up his job. And if you accepted him, it would be even more complicated – can you imagine Mrs. Sheffield's reaction to having a chauffeur as a son-in-law?"

Jocelyn winced.

"Not to mention the fact that he has nothing to offer you - "

"I don't _need_ him to offer me anything," she retorted, blushing again. "I'm already rich enough. All I want … but it's impossible, Niles. You know it is."

"I know nothing of the sort."

He took one of the roses from the vase and handed it to her.

"Who do you think found these for your wedding bouquet? Who was it who could tell Miss Fine everything she needed to know – your favorite food, your favorite songs? Who carried you in his arms when you sprained your ankle the other day? Certainly not the Duke."

Jocelyn bowed her head over the rose, holding it in an attitude of prayer.

"You should see the way your chauffeur checks and double-checks the engine, just to make sure that car is in top condition when you step into it. And when you drive out together, he brakes for the full three seconds at every red light – _nobody_ does that in England, let alone in New York! Don't you see? For men like us, the only way is to be subtle. We don't dare to show our feelings except through the work we do … "

Niles looked down at his hands, rough from years of chemicals. How many tea trays had they carried back and forth from Maxwell's office, loaded with shortbread cookies or cucumber sandwiches because he knew whose favorites they were? How often had he cleaned the green sofa where CC Babcock sat, or waxed the floor she walked on? How many times had she watched him working with a sneer on her elegant face?

"So you see," he wound up, forcing his thoughts back to Jocelyn and Lester. "If you'd only speak to him, it may all come out right. It's not too late."

Jocelyn sighed and leaned back against the headboard, her eyes half closed.

"I'll think about it," she says. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to get some sleep."

Her voice was flat and automatic, the voice of someone who will say anything to extract herself from an unwanted conversation. Niles wondered if she had any intention of 'thinking about it', or if the dazzling suitability of her match to the Duke of Salisbury would prove impossible to resist. His respect for his childhood playmate lowered by several degrees. Sensing this, she refused to meet his eyes.

"Thank you for your advice, Niles," she said, her aristocratic voice pronouncing every word with crystal clarity. "Good night."

"Good night, Miss."

He nodded, turned on his heel, and was already halfway out the door when she called him back.

"Niles?"

"Yes?

"_You're_ not in love with someone, are you?" she asked, a little girl again, watching him with her arms wrapped around her knees. "Someone from a higher class than yours?"

"Really, Miss Sheffield. Would I do a thing like that?"

She laughed.

Thanking his stars for her inherited lack of perception, he bowed himself out.


	18. Sunday In The Park With Fran

_18. Sunday In The Park With Fran_

When Maxwell Sheffield kissed Fran Fine for the first time, it was CC's misfortune to be standing only three feet away. She saw it all: the sudden joy in Fran's eyes, the boyish embarrassment in Maxwell's, the way he shook her hand over and over again as if to break the spell of the moment. Her violet-and-green dress sparkled in the lights of the bar as she moved away, casting a sidelong glance at her employer.

"Anytime, Mr. Sheffield," she purred. "Anytime!"

CC's stomach turned, and not only from drinking.

"Did you see that?" she hissed, unconsciously clutching Niles' arm to hold herself up.

"I did." He beamed. "When we get home, shall I break out the champagne?"

"The only drink _that_ woman needs is a very cold shower."

She glared after Fran as the other woman sashayed off in search of a seat, followed by Maxwell with their drinks.

"As do you." Niles picked her hand off his sleeve with two fingers, as if it were a ball of lint, and gazed exaggeratedly around the crowd. "Now if only Judy Garland were still with us."

"How unoriginal, Butler Boy, comparing me to the Witch of the West. Nanny Fine used that joke this morning."

"Mm, you're right. That _was_ inappropriate." He turned to her with a cold frown. "Even the Witch of the West has more dignity than you showed today."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Even if she had thought of a comeback, the lump in her throat made it impossible to speak. Instead she turned her back on him and gulped the last of her whiskey.

_Just when I think it's impossible to hate him any more … _

A surprisingly gentle hand on her back made her jump. She did not turn around.

"All joking aside, Miss Babcock," said Niles, "What will it take to get you to stop lowering yourself? Not only to Frank Bradley, but to Mr. Sheffield! For your own sake, I'm asking, no, begging you to stop. After what you just saw, do you honestly believe you have any chance with him?"

"Oh, please!" she snarled. "That was a show of gratitude. It means nothing. He does it all the time."

"So when's the last time he kissed _you_?"

She swore at him, using language that made the bartender nearby snort into his glass.

"Oh for Heaven's sake, Miss Babcock. I'm only trying to help!"

"Well, that's rich!" She whirled around, clutching her fuchsia-colored shawl like a shield, too furious even to cry. "First you talk to me as if I were a streetwalker, then you tell me I'm too desperate to get a man. What am I, a hooker or a spinster? Make up your toilet-scrubbing mind! And now you're telling me you want to help? In what deranged alternate universe could I possibly want _your_ help?"

For a moment, something flashed in Niles' gray eyes that might have been pain – but the next moment, it was gone, leaving CC certain that it must have been a trick of the fluorescent lighting. When she looked closer, his face showed no more emotion than the face of Michelangelo's _David._

"Excuse me," he said, "I need to congratulate Mr. Sheffield … in more senses than one."

Which, CC thought, in the words of the immortal Hamlet, was really _"the most unkindest cut of all"._


End file.
